Dismissed it. Wind in my ears.
Didn’t stop hearing it. Stopped a moment, halting him with me, and listened, and heard- bells.
Hundreds of small bells, ill-tuned, clanking in a susurration almost as mild as the hushed ripple of the water.
Couldn’t figure it out. We were looking out over hundreds of small boats- but they couldn’t all have bells, could they?
Then I saw it- metal blocks on the limp halyards, tapping against the bare masts, clanging in a quiet but variegated symphony.
We stood for maybe a minute, watching them bob on the gentle waves, hearing the dissonant but soothing murmur of the boats, talking in their sleep, gentling the wind and waves and each other.
Then both of us turned and went on our way.
Labels: diary, prose poem, travel
